


of stalking, salt, and shampoo commercials

by Batman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I'm sorry Oikawa, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 20:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman/pseuds/Batman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Karasuno’s setter has great hair, and Tooru has great issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of stalking, salt, and shampoo commercials

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER PROMPT FILL. For the prompt of Oikawa + Suga and hair care discussion. I don't think there is anything in this travesty that can be considered a discussion, but Oikawa tried, okay.

In the first place, if Tooru wasn’t as gentle and respectful of his elders as he is, he would have thrown a few punches by now. But since he is as gentle and respectful of his elders as he is, he doesn’t. Throw a few punches. In fact, he’s just standing rooted to the floor while their coach talks about some kind of “training camp” with “Karasuno”, as if a combination of those two concepts (Karasuno is not a team. Karasuno is a concept.) is a possibility and not an incorporeal terror.

‘I see,’ Tooru says. ‘You wish to have us spend some time with Karasuno near the ocean.’

‘And play volleyball,’ his coach says.

‘And play volleyball.’

‘Yes.’

‘I will communicate this to the team.’

‘Good.’

 

* * *

 

‘Tobio-chan is going to sleep in the same establishment as me,’ he says to Iwaizumi. ‘I wish to leave the mortal world.’

  

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, neither is the first day horrendous nor does the first night bring any murder attempts from Tobio-chan. Tooru thanks his stars when he wakes up the next morning unscathed, and then promptly steps on Iwaizumi’s outstretched hand on the way to the bathroom.

It’s that afternoon that it all goes to shit. Well, shit isn’t the word probably, but Tooru has never liked being poetic about his crises.

The sun is glaring down at them, making both the sand and the sea sparkle. Tooru is catching some rest under an umbrella and is absolutely not staring at that monk guy’s guns. In fact, he is so absolutely not staring at them that he turns his head and fixes his gaze, instead, on Karasuno’s fifty-year-old parental couple.

The back of Sawamura’s head is perhaps almost more annoying than the front of it, which is definitely saying something because few things annoy Tooru as much as Sawamura’s shit-eating grin. Before he knows it, he’s reaching for one of the manager’s notebook and tearing out a bit of paper, crumpling it between his fingers.

‘Aren’t you a little old for spitballs?’ Iwaizumi says.

Tooru heaves a heavy sigh. ‘It is not a _spitball_ , Iwa-chan,’ he says with great deliberation, ‘it is merely a crumpled bit of paper. I do not engage in uncouth activities like covering paper with my saliva.’

‘And yet you’re about to throw that at Sawamura’s head.’

‘Absolutely.’ He squints, takes aim, and lances the little bullet.

He knows that in retrospect he will blame the sunlight, but currently he is too stunned to make excuses. He missed spectacularly, but that’s not the worst part of it. The worst is this:

The bullet not only makes contact with the crown of _Sugawara’s_ grey head, but, despite its optimum-for-balance position, slides _right down his hair_ without stopping for a moment, missing even the upturns of his curls.

Now, Tooru has great hair. Fantastic, even. He loves his hair like all the women in the shampoo commercials tell him to. He also takes their shampoo commercial hair with a grain of salt, because it is a fucking shampoo commercial and Tooru knows how to draw the line between reality and shampoo commercials. And if one looked at that line with a magnifying glass, one would view very, very fine print that says that among other humbling realisations, Tooru knows that if someone threw a piece of wadded up paper in his hair, it would stay there. It would not slide off.

Sugawara’s hair, shining silver in the sun, exists on a level much higher than that of shampoo commercials.

Tooru knows his mouth is open. In theory, he also knows how to close it. The ability to act on this theory evades him strangely at the moment, so he sits there with his mouth open, staring at Sugawara, who hasn’t even realised that a paper attack attempt was made on him.

Iwaizumi snorts from beside Tooru.

‘Should’ve spit on it,’ he says.

 

* * *

 

Tooru has always been a go-getter. This one time when he was ten years old, his mother stashed away his favourite ice cream in the top shelf of the freezer compartment of their giant refrigerator. Not only did Tooru skip right over the idea of asking for help, he also skipped right over the idea of getting a chair and instead chose to jump, open the freezer compartment with one hand, and then hang onto the door handle and swing wildly until he made contact with the ice cream. The fact that the door broke off and he was scolded within an inch of his life while his father cried with laughter is secondary. The idea is that Tooru is a go-getter. That is to say, he goes and gets. All sorts of things, including ice cream, and haircare tips. Except that he might not do it in the most conventional ways. Both the ice cream and the haircare tips.

‘What are you doing,’ Matsukawa says flatly. Tooru jumps and turns to look at him. ‘Are you trying to laser-fry his head? Because I promise you it’s not working.’

‘I,’ Tooru says coldly, ‘am observing.’

‘Observing what.’

‘Just observing.’

‘What.’

They’re in the water because the coaches told them to take a dip while the sun is out. Tooru, rather than enjoying the waves or Karasuno’s libero’s spectacular ability to scare the living shit out of their ace by staying underwater for great amounts of time, has his eyes fixed on Sugawara’s hair. It’s wet now, of course, and four shades darker. Tooru wants to see what it looks like after he towels it off.

Then Sugawara laughs at something— probably the libero— and shakes his head, dives back down. The next time he resurfaces, the sun catches the outlines of his body and he looks a little like some kind of mythical creature.

Tooru has never been so affronted in his life.

‘Everything,’ he says to Matsukawa. ‘All the things. I am observing all of them.’

 

* * *

 

‘I don’t know what you were expecting,’ Iwaizumi says at dinner. ‘That really wasn’t—’

‘I am aware.’ This time, Tooru is definitely trying to laser-fry his rice in an attempt to forget what just transpired and the occasional look from Karasuno’s table. It is also not working.

Again, in retrospect, he will probably blame the way he called out _hey, Mister Refreshing_ on nerves. Not that he has them. Nerves, that is. Also, Tobio-chan, because Tooru operates on a contingency plan of _when in doubt, blame Tobio-chan_. The boy probably jinxed it just by being present in the room. Anyway, the fact of the matter is that Tooru called out _hey, Mister Refreshing_ , then strode over to Sugawara, who was about to settle down at his table with his tray in his hands, then stood there in front of him for thirty seconds, having forgotten how to formulate sentences. And what’s worse is that with his unwavering confidence in even the worst of situations, he stood there, very confidently _smirking_ at Sugawara, while having forgotten how to formulate sentences and experiencing great regret.

‘Yes?’ Sugawara said.

‘The,’ Tooru said, then cleared his throat to try again. ‘So. What about the salt?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Right,’ Tooru said. ‘Have a nice meal.’

‘No, I mean,’ Iwaizumi says now, ‘I know you’re an idiot, but I don’t even know what you were going for this time.’

‘Why are you always so mean to me?’ Tooru says. Iwaizumi decides, as always, that the question doesn’t warrant a reply, and leaves him to self-reflect in silence.

 

* * *

 

Tooru knows when to understand that he’s been wrong about something. Well, it’s more that he’s so rarely wrong about things that when he is, he thinks he can admit it because his rights will cancel the wrong out. Or something like that. But even he has to admit that this particular wrong might not be cancellable, since it combines not only misconception and hypocrisy, but also an element of what others might call “creepiness”.

The idea he has been wrong about that is in question at the moment is his conviction that Tobio-chan would sneak into Seijou’s room in the dead of the night to murder him. That is the misconception. The hypocrisy (and possible “creepiness”, which is a harsh word, honestly) lies in Tooru’s own silent presence in the Karasuno third years’ sleeping quarters.

In his defence, Sugawara is not only alone, but also looks disturbingly pretty even while asleep. The moment Tooru voices these observations in his head, he realises that neither of them could be used for defence, but sometimes someone has to take one for the team. And he’s taking it right now. By _one_ , he means standing by Sugawara’s bedside and staring down at him, and by _team_ he means his hair. And really, he was only on his way to the bathroom, and the door was wide open and Sugawara was right _there_. It’s not his fault. Plus Sugawara’s hair looks kind of very amazing under the moonlight. Maybe even better than the sunlight. And he has a spot under his eye which Tooru had really never noticed before.

Sugawara shifts a little, and a lock of his hair falls over his eyes. Before he knows it, Tooru is reaching out to brush it away, and then promptly regretting it. He doesn’t know what he expected, but of course Sugawara’s hair is the softest, silkiest hair that he’s touched in his life, and could kick his own hair’s ass on any given day. Probably Tooru could dry his hair with the gentlest of motions and the softest of fabrics after having used roughly three hundred bottles of conditioner on it, and Sugawara could come in from a gale, and Sugawara’s hair would still be better. It’s just so _soft_ that Tooru accepts all of these facts without a moment’s hesitation.

He does wish he’d hesitated, though, in accepting the facts but more importantly in entering this room in the first place, because when he finally turns back to the door, Sawamura is leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest.

Tooru squeaks.

‘What,’ Sawamura says, in a voice that heralds flames and violence, ‘the actual shit are you doing.’

Tooru doesn’t know whether he should be thankful for the interruption or not, but Sugawara stirs then, and frowns up at him, then at Sawamura, and then sits up.

‘Is everything all right?’

He is definitely not thankful for the interruption. Sugawara’s voice is a little hoarse, and kind of quiet, and very soft, just like his hair and the spot under his eye and basically everything about him. Tooru’s a little upset, actually.

‘I thought the window was open,’ he says finally, and even though he knows Sawamura doesn’t believe him one bit, he walks past the guy with his head held high.

 

* * *

 

Ironically (although not really) by the time Tooru actually takes an active, non-disastrous step to do something about the hair situation (and possibly a heart situation), all of Karasuno has basically formed some kind of bodyguard circle around Sugawara. Even the shrimp has his hackles up, which is laughable in its ineffectiveness but touching in its sincerity. Or something like that.

Either way, it’s a bother, because for a change Tooru actually has a plan that does not involve knowingly or unknowingly harming either Sugawara or his own dignity, and no one will leave him alone with the boy. Not even on the beach, where there is no secluded corner. And really, what do they think he’ll do, chop off Sugawara’s hair and put it in that potion thing from Harry Potter? He doesn’t think they even know that his slightly over-enthusiastic interest lies in Sugawara’s _hair_. Which it totally does. His interest lies solely, and purely, in Sugawara’s magical shampoo commercial moonlight-reflecting hair. Tooru is rapidly losing pride for his own hair and he can’t have that. He has to level up his hair. He’s not looking at Sugawara’s beauty spot; he’s looking _out_. For himself. For the team.

Thankfully, Sugawara (who might be the only one on either team who is convinced of Tooru’s innocence) actually manages to shoo his teammates away for a while, and Tooru takes the opportunity along with the contents of his snapback and sits down beside Sugawara on the sand.

‘Hi,’ he says. Good start. Good start.

‘Hello.’ Sugawara doesn’t say anything else, and Tooru wonders if he’s just not curious about the events of the past week, or if he thinks Tooru is naturally the kind of guy who stares at you across the dining room and turns slightly red when you catch his eye. He doesn’t know which alternative is worse— and he’s learned, quickly, that Sugawara has this way of being quiet that unnerves him more quickly than anything else ever has (and that’s not called being “flustered”, because Tooru doesn’t get “flustered”) so before he can lose what little momentum he has, he goes for it.

‘Your hair is nice,’ he says, a little loudly. ‘…and also other things. Are nice.’

Sugawara doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Tooru is already contemplating the quickest way into the depths of the water in front of them, but then he turns to look at Tooru.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘That’s nice of you.’

Tooru finds his smile then, and directs it at the sea. When a few beats pass, he reaches for his snapback and looks down at it. Hanamaki had not even bothered, when he spotted Tooru, to question why he was picking out daisies from the guesthouse garden, and Tooru had briefly wondered if all the people in his immediate vicinity had just sort of given up on him.

‘I wanted to try something,’ he says. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Go ahead.’

Tooru turns a little, then, and picks out a daisy with a longer stem. He knows Sugawara knows what he’s about to do, so he waits for the boy to turn as well. When he does, Tooru picks a strand of his hair— a little off his crown— with two fingers and raises it, tucks the stem under it, then lets it fall.

The flower rests there for a second before sliding right off, and Tooru shakes his head, ready to laugh— but then Sugawara is turning his head a little more, and he says ‘Try above my ear, it’ll stay still that way.’

Tooru blinks at him, then blinks at him again. Then he reaches for another daisy and tucks it right over Sugawara’s ear, and waits.

‘HA,’ he says, when it doesn’t move. ‘It stayed.’

He’s been well familiarised, this past week, with the regret that washes over him. It’s desolate and directly linked to the things Sugawara does and is, because now that the ridiculous little flower _stayed_ , there is a ridiculous _flower_ in his magical shampoo commercial moonlight-reflecting hair, and Sugawara is grinning until his eyes are almost closed. Tooru has, in fact, a great many regrets.

‘Do you wash it with beer sometimes?’ He asks in a defeated voice. ‘Because I heard that it makes your hair really smooth, but I never really tried it because beer smells terrible.’

‘I don’t wash it with beer,’ Sugawara says, and Tooru exhales in relief. ‘I wash it with egg.’

It’s an utter disgrace, but he doesn’t realise Sugawara is joking until the boy actually starts to laugh, and that is even worse because this is the incorporeal terror of “training camp” and “Karasuno” personified: Sugawara laughing with a daisy in his hair. See, this is why Tooru wished to leave the mortal world before any of this could happen.

‘I could lend you my shampoo,’ Sugawara says slowly. There is a twinkle in his eye, and a roar that has nothing to do with the ocean in Tooru’s ears. ‘If you want.’

For once, Tooru doesn’t attempt anything but a response that means nothing but what it says.

‘I’d like that,’ he says. ‘Yeah.’

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/soldierpoetking) and [Tumblr](http://sturlsons.tumblr.com). 
> 
> I want Suga's hair, real talk. I think I'll go grey in the summer.


End file.
